


Weaving Magic

by Cipher_the_Sidhe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mages, Mentions of genocide, Moral Ambiguity, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Themes of racial persecution, Trust Issues, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, Void shenanigans later on, Witchcraft, discussion of spirits and "devils", reader is female, what if there was traditional witchcraft but in a world that played by monster magic rules kinda?, witchcraft based on real traditional witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28424820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cipher_the_Sidhe/pseuds/Cipher_the_Sidhe
Summary: With the monsters sealed underground humanity turns its hatred on the lingering vessels of magic plaguing their world: the very mages they’d used to banish monsterkind. The centuries of crusades and inquisitions that followed the monster-human war drove mages to the edge of extinction, with small pockets surviving through the generations in secret.Now the barrier has been broken, and monsterkind has returned. Witchcraft– the tangible rituals mages once practiced that did not require magic– has been officially legalized for years as religious freedom, and it has become a popular practice for many. However, the lingering mage covens are still in hiding, and humanity has largely relegated the stories of their ancestors to mere legend. But with the reappearance of monsters, people are beginning to question what else about those old legends might also be real. Faced with mounting tensions and the threat of a new witch hunt, you will do anything to defend your coven. Amidst it all, you meet an alluring monster who might understand what you’re going through better than anyone else. After all, Muffet is no stranger to doing whatever she has to for the good of her clan.
Relationships: Muffet (Undertale)/Reader, Nice Cream Vendor (Undertale)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	Weaving Magic

Chamomile, rose hips, calendula, white tea leaves, and a heaping spoonful of honey from the farm all the way down the low side of the valley, inland where the wildflowers consume the countryside in the spring until the late summer heat finally beats them back. You take a deep, savoring breath of the fragrant steam rising from the old bone china teapot before setting it aside to steep for a few minutes, hoping to ground yourself in the familiar scents. You need it. 

“Can you imagine it though? I mean, that’s kind of scary isn’t it? He’s made completely of fire!” 

You raise a brow at her and Lys throws her hands up in defense. 

“Look, I don’t mean that in an offensive way or anything. I’m not a racist. Monsters are super cool and equal rights are monster rights and all that. I’m just saying. Can you imagine what it’d be like, to be able to do magic like that?”

You drum your fingers on the bar counter, keeping your eyes on the teapot, and lie. 

“No, I can’t.”

She’s referring to the fire elemental that had appeared on the news earlier in the day, projected to you from the old TV box you had pushed into the back corner with the record player and extra china sets that were for sale. It’s been almost a full year since monsters emerged from Mt Ebott, rattling the stone and the city and your life, but monster-run businesses– like Grillby’s bar, soon to open to the public– are only just now getting off the ground. Honestly, you’re pleasantly surprised at how well and quickly monsters have become integrated into the local community. Sure, it had taken a few months for them to be fit into society legally and for humans in the towns surrounding the mountain to get used to their new neighbors, but for the most part things had gone rather smoothly and remained peaceful.

For the most part. 

You have to purposefully keep yourself from rubbing at the hag stone hanging around your neck where it hides below your collar. Seeking out the comfort of the protective charm is an anxious tick most wouldn’t pay any mind to, but you can’t be too careful these days. Happy as you are for monsterkind, there is no denying that your life has become more complicated since their arrival, and more perilous. 

But if Lys moonlights as an inquisitor, she gives no indication as she simply breezes on with her tangent, casually waving one hand around while the other weakly grinds herbs in a pestle. “Like, I’m all about using intention and cleansing and stuff, but wouldn’t it be cool if humans could use magic like monsters do? I’m not saying that witchcraft isn’t cool and all, but it’s not exactly juggling balls of magical fire or creating spears out of thin air like that royal guard fish lady can, now is it? All I’m saying is that apparently humans used to be able to use magic and I think it’s pretty crap that I don’t get to be a wizard, okay?”

“The universe had to nerf you or you’d take over the world, obviously. Y’can’t be that good looking and have magic too, Lys. It wouldn’t be fair,” you say, shutting off the timer a few seconds before it goes off and pouring three servings of tea from the pot. The tea comes out a soft, warm pink and it smells like a spring afternoon. You smile a bit to yourself at the small success. 

She grins at you and flips her strawberry curls as you hand over her cup of tea (in that obnoxious Japanese cat mug that doesn’t even match the set! You want to weep at the absolute waste of bone china every time you serve her tea). “Flatterer,” she purrs, and then moans far too loudly for it to be appropriate in her workplace at the first long sip she takes. 

You’re still holding the other two cups of tea so you elect to glare at her, pointedly jerking your chin towards the customer sitting in the dim lounge. She laughs and apologizes quietly. 

“Oh my god, this is delicious. It tastes like sunshine and love. What’re you gonna call this blend?” 

You take a sip from your own cup (proper bone china from the set because you’re not a blasphemous heathen) and consider. It’s warm and sweet and as you swallow a sense of comfort settles deep and soft in your chest. 

“Kore,” you decide. “After the Greek goddess of spring.”

“I thought that was Persephone?”

You hum and set your cup down to take the customer their serving. “Before she was Hades’ wife, she was Kore. The Maiden. Spring without end.”

Lys makes a thoughtful noise and goes back to sipping her tea. You carry the last serving out into the lounge, which is as empty as usual at this hour of the night. Your last customer of the evening sits alone in a comfy corner armchair by the window, anxiously twisting the end of her sweater sleeve between her fingers. Her hands are still shaking from when she came in fifteen minutes ago. You clear your throat as you approach, but she startles anyways and you smile apologetically at her as you offer the cup of tea. She takes it carefully and thanks you, but her eyes are damp and you can’t look away from how she trembles. Your heart clenches with sympathy and you shift awkwardly on your feet before moving cautiously closer.

“You look like you’re having a bit of a rough night, hon. Would you like to talk about it,” you offer gently, and your heart could break at the way her big brown eyes immediately fill to the brim with tears, as if being shown an ounce of concern was the only thing she needed for everything to just overflow. 

You set yourself down in the chair beside her and steady her hands in one of yours to keep the tea from spilling over her shaking fingers, while your other hand rubs small, soothing circles into her back. The poor thing is full-on trembling now and trying valiantly to stifle her hiccuping sobs. Which is perfect, because it means she can’t see the dim green light that illuminates your eyes as you pour subtle waves of calm, healing magic into your comforting movements. 

With the help of your careful influence she settles down fairly quickly, taking a long sip of the tea and releasing a shuddering breath as she pulls herself back together. 

“I’m so sorry about that. God, that was so embarrassing.”

You click your tongue and give her hand a final pat before releasing her. “Don’t you go apologizing for having feelings, hon. You’re fine. How ‘bout you tell me what’s bothering you?”

And, helped along perhaps from your green magic still helping her relax, she does. She tells you about Capri, and how he is sweet and funny and how he makes it so that all of the nicecream (not ice cream, she explains with a fond smile, but his own monster alternative) he sells makes people feel better about their day. Then she tells you about how her family had reacted to the news that she was dating a monster- how they had shouted and cursed and slandered and told her to get out. Your gut twists painfully and you have to bite the inside of your cheek hard from saying something beyond impolite about her kin. Stars above, but she’s just a kid. 

She shrugs and laughs humorlessly, wiping at her cheeks with the stretched ends of her sleeves. “It’s not like…I mean we- we had already been talking about moving in together for a few weeks, so it’s not like I’m suddenly homeless. But it just sucks, you know? I just wish they could’ve been happy for me? Or at least not been awful. I mean, you like to think your family isn’t full of racists and then suddenly it’s you! I’m just disappointed.” Her shoulder sag with the release of it all, but you can already tell that the rant has been cathartic for her. 

“Rightfully so,” you grumble. “Family should never treat you like that. No one should ever treat you like that, really. But I’m glad you’ve got somewhere to go. You walked here, didn’t you? How about you give me a few minutes to finish cleaning up and I’ll get you a bag of that tea together, and then I can take you wherever you need to get. It’s too dark to be walking alone.” 

She starts, as if only realizing how late it’s suddenly gotten. Lys had cleaned up most of the bar and left about halfway through the girl’s story, since she’d come in shortly before closing time anyways. Her face falls in obvious guilt that you immediately wave away with a bright smile. 

“Don’t even think about fretting over it, hon. It’s not a problem. You let your boy know that I’ll be bringing you home, okay? D’you need to pick anything up beforehand?”

The girl looks beyond flustered, sputtering half sentences and waving her hands frantically, but it’s dark and clearly far later than she meant to be out and facts are facts: it really just isn’t safe for a young woman to be out alone at this hour. Not in Fairharbor, not anymore. Besides, you don’t really leave her much room for argument, diligently putting together the bag of loose tea leaves and cleaning up what little there is to do (not much, bless Lys). You hum an old shanty under your breath and the girl seems to work out that you’ve made up your mind, so she gets back to tugging at her sleeve until you walk back over to her, your bag slung over your shoulder and keys in hand. 

She’s got her phone in her hand and she gives you a sheepish look. “I just realized that I don’t know your name,” she admits, cheeks stained red as she no doubt realizes again that she just kind of broke down in front of a complete stranger. 

You don’t let her linger on it, beaming at her and giving her your name while you hold the door open for you both to leave the shop. 

“Oh, that’s such a pretty name,” she says, clearly a bit surprised by it. “Are you native to Ebott?”

You nod as you lock up. “My family’s been here long before there was a town, though most of the rest of our people traveled inland down the other side of the mountain centuries ago.” You don’t have to mention that the relocation was less than voluntary.

She types something into her phone before pocketing it. She must be telling her boyfriend the name of the person bringing her home. “Well, thank you so much for… everything. You’ve really got to be one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. My name’s Maria, by the way. And I swear I’m usually more composed than tonight. I really didn’t mean to put you out of your way by hanging out for so long.”

You smile gently at her as you open the passenger’s side of your old black sedan for her to get in. “With everything you’ve been through I think you’ve earned the right to an off night, hon. Besides, I’m glad you stuck around. That’s not something someone should go through alone, and it was no trouble at all keeping you company. Besides, it’s not out of my way, really. I’ve got some errands to take care of tonight anyways, so I’m more than happy to take a little detour for you.”

Maria’s shoulders sag with relief and as you follow her directions to her boyfriend’s apartment on the predominately monster side of town she seems to unwind more and more. She tells you about how she and Capri met when he parked his nicecream cart in the park across from the bookstore she works at and how she and her coworkers had locked the shop to take a break and try it. It’s absolutely adorable how she gushes about how sweet and funny he was, and how completely thrilled he was to have humans eagerly trying his treat. 

Her face is flushed a pretty pink and she is beaming by the time you pull up to the building. You both spot the tall blue bunny monster leaning against the building, waiting, and Maria’s grin widens even further. 

“Come on, I’ll introduce you,” she says, hopping out of the car in a far better mood than she entered it. 

You glance at the dashboard clock and wince. It’s almost ten already. Still, if you’re going to be late anyways you figure that a couple more minutes wont do any harm and get out to follow Maria up the steps to where she’s wrapped up in a tight hug. 

Most monsters are pretty big compared to humans, but Capri is particularly tall. Even without his long hare-like ears adding another foot or so to his height, neither you nor Maria quite reach his chin. He’s some kind of rabbit monster, with a friendly face and bright blue fur. He looks up from where he had his face pressed to the top of Maria’s head and the expression he gives you as you approach is so openly grateful and relieved that you like him instantly. 

“Thank you so much for bringing Maria here. I really appreciate it. I would have gone to walk with her but even then-“

Of course. Monsters can’t drive just yet, and a monster-human couple walking alone at night might be even riskier than Maria just walking on her own. The unspoken truths hang heavy and sour in the air and settle like a rock in your gut. You make a conscious effort not to let your face twist in disdain at what has come to plague your town at night. 

You school your expression into something warm and offer your hand. “It was no trouble at all. You must be Capri. Maria was telling me about you on the way over.”

You give him your name as he shakes your hand lightly. The fur on his hand is so soft that it almost pulls a surprised squeak out of you, which you manage to cover up as a little cough at the last second as you pull your hand back. 

He smiles at you, long ears perking up (so cute!) and wraps his arm around Maria. “Whatever she told you…I promise I’m actually more embarrassing in person.”

The joke catches you off guard and your surprised snort sends you all into a fit of giggles. Oh yeah, you like this guy. You’re glad to know that whatever happens with her family, Maria is in good hands. Paws? Probably hands. 

“Seriously though, I really appreciate how cool you were tonight. As a thank you, can we get you breakfast tomorrow? There’s this monster-run café that isn’t quite opened to the general public yet that has the best pastries! They were super famous underground. And even though it isn’t open to the public yet, monsters are allowed to bring our friends.” 

Maria’s face absolutely lights up at the mention of the café and she beams at you. “Oh my gosh, you run a tea shop. You would totally love the Spider Parlor!” 

You’re not exactly a morning person, especially on nights like tonight, but their enthusiasm is contagious. Plus, the idea of a monster café sounds far too tempting to pass up. 

“Sure, that sounds great,” you say, matching Maria’s bright smile. You fish in your bag for a second and pull out a business card from a side pocket. On one side is your tea shop’s name– Red Moon tearoom– and on the other side, scribbled in slightly smudged ink, is your personal number. “Text me the address and I’ll meet you there?”

They both pull their phones out to add your number to their contacts. Capri’s phone is different from any model you’ve ever seen. It’s kind of bulky, with a solid keyboard set below a wide screen and a little antenna sticking out from the top. It looks old, and a little bit alien. 

“Is 9 okay,” he asks, pocketing his weird phone. At the same time, your own phone dings with a notification from your back pocket. You give it a quick peak. Yup, it’s an address from an unknown number. No area code before the personal number. Huh. 

You briefly mourn the sleep you’re sacrificing, but placate yourself with thoughts of pastries. “Yeah, that works for me. I’ll see you guys then?”

Capri nods and holds his fist out to you with a smile. You chuckle, tapping his fluffy knuckles with your own fist. Maria, on the other hand, looks a bit awkward for a second before, hesitantly, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around you in a loose hug. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For the ride, but also just for listening. I really needed that.”

Her voice cracks a little and you heart clenches with something fiercely maternal for her as you wrap your arms around her in return, giving her a reassuring squeeze. 

“Anytime.” And you mean it. 

They wish you a safe trip home and you hop in your car, groaning when you catch a glimpse of the time. Already tired, you turn away from the city and your waiting bed and head down to the cliffs.

*****************************************************************************

It’s only due to years of traversing these secret footpaths in the dark that you’re able to pick your way down through the forest and onto the shore. The cove– your cove– is wrapped up safe and hidden and warm by high gray cliffs blanketed with evergreens. No casual hiker could pick their way down those cliffs to the cove, but for those who know where to look for it there is a hidden path worn through a crevice in the stone that slopes in a gentle decline down to the rocky shore. 

You are one of the those few people who know where to look, your feet having worn their own familiar grooves into that stone path over your lifetime. You find your way in the dark, slim shafts of moonlight cutting through the trees to help guide you. There’s a pressure in the air around you for a moment, heavy and charged, but the glamour folds to in the presence of the hag stone hanging around your neck and grants you entrance with the sound of bells. Within the protection of the glamour, it takes no effort for you to pool your energy together and, with a rush of heat and a slight tug, to separate the culmination of your being from your body. It materializes at your side: vivid, luminous scarlet in the form of a large, ghostly wyvern. Red eyes regard you serenely and the tips of ephemeral feathery wings brush against you in a quiet show of support. 

The grounding scent of sea spray and cedar smoke– cleansing, protection, and renewal– wafts over you, along with a gentle wash of golden light. High up on the sheltered shore of the cove, thirteen witches and their spectral familiars stand loosely gathered around a floating conjured fire. They’re laughing together, rubbing their hands over the little fire to keep warm. They’re an eclectic bunch, ranging in age from teen to middle-aged, with luminous animals in a rainbow of colors mingling around them, but they treat each other as equals. Something warms in your chest at the sight of them. Your kin. Your coven. 

You think of poor Maria, cast out by her own family for dating a monster. For being close to magic. You think of the brutes playing at inquisitors prowling the streets, making it too dangerous to walk alone in the city at night. Your breath shudders out in a long exhale, and that’s all the time you allow yourself to be consumed by the bubbling anxiety that had washed over you. The wyvern at your side shudders in response to your turmoil, taking it in and replacing it with determination. You use it to push your anxiety out of sight and plaster a calm smile on your face, square your shoulders, and, with the ease of countless hours spent practicing in front of a mirror, glide out of the shadow of the stone to join the circle of your charges. 

The group quiets as you approach, dipping their heads and pressing three fingers to the center of their chests as the quiet murmur of “Magus” ripples through the gathering in greeting. You return the respectful gesture, pressing your own fingers over your chest– over your soul– and the solemnity of the moment passes with your acknowledgement. The group goes back to smiling and chatting, except for the beautiful red head with wild curls that stomps over to you, spitting mad, with a scowl fierce enough to curdle milk. 

“What, pray tell, do you think you’re doing showing up pret near half an hour late with nary s’much as a phone call or a text!” Her voice, with its heavy Ebott accent, breaks on an angry screech, but she goes on undeterred and starts to jab a spindly finger into your shoulder. “While those loons prance around the streets playing witch hunter? Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!” 

Her familiar– a vibrant orange cougar she calls Frey– follows after her and immediately starts rubbing their head against your legs, softening her words for her. You grin wide and crooked at her and snatch her attacking hand between both of yours, mostly to calm her down but also because you’re pretty sure her bony finger has poked a bruise into your shoulder already. 

“Beg your pardon, Maeve. I got caught up in a bit of a situation ‘round closing time. I’ll tell you about it after we’re done here, yeah?”

She just clicks her tongue and rolls her eyes, yanking her hand out of your grip. “Damn right you will. Let’s get this over with.”

On that you’re in agreement. You don’t want to keep your charges out here any longer than necessary. It wouldn’t do for people to start noticing that they go into work or school tired every month on days corresponding to the full and new moons. That wouldn’t have really been a concern a year ago, but you’ve got a lot more to worry about these days. 

The basic preliminary work is already done. Your witches hardly need your direction to set the compass stave and lay a circle of werking down, the mixture of salt and black ash vivid against the beach sand. The collective has quieted, moving to their positions around the circle as you move to the twin-pronged staff that stands upright at its center, with the conjured flame nestled between the stave’s prongs. Familiars move into place beside their witches in the circle, creating a kaleidoscope of color around you, and each color is only more deeply saturated by the red light that your own massive familiar casts over them, filling them with determination.  


Tonight’s werk is rote and, while simple enough, effective. The coven surrounding Ebott is small and has blessedly avoided the attention of the new thugs parading themselves as witch hunters, thanks in no small part to your nearly extreme dedication to the protective rites and new rules for discretion. However, that doesn’t mean that there hasn’t been attacks on people in Fairharbor and the surrounding towns, leaving completely ordinary people in the hospital beaten and bloody. No one around here has been killed, thank the stars, but the craze of the new inquisition has spread far beyond Ebott, and you know that in other towns and countries not every coven has been so lucky. That’s why you have been stubbornly enforcing a glamour over your coven– both the witches that attend ritual and their kin– with each esbat you gather for. The illusion is taxing to maintain, but it’s kept unwanted attention off of your charges well enough. Maeve, and others, have suggested more than once that such large spells done every fortnight might be excessive, but it’s the fact that your familiar, who is more often than not your voice of reason, hasn’t said anything about it that lets you know that you’re doing the right thing for the coven. Luce is devoted to your care, but the wellbeing of your people must always come first.  


Sucking in a deep, grounding breath, you take the stave in your hand and twist it so that the longer of the two prongs faces the east. Three breaths. Steady your heartbeat. 

Incant.

“Harken and heed my summons, kin of the eastern powers. Sylphs of the air, breath of the Star and her magi, we bid you hail and welcome!” 

Your blood rushes through your body as if flowing back to your heart, making you tingle like you’ve been jolted with electricity. Luce’s crooning call sounds like bells in the night, carrying over the echoed call of “hail and welcome” from the others, and it moves through you and outward through the circle. It puts will and raw determination behind your incantation, turning intention into reality, and the wind whips up around you at your summons. Your hair whips wildly around you for a moment, snapping against your neck and cheeks before the gale calms and settles it with a caress over your shoulders. 

The familiars stir, delighting at the arrival of the first of the spirits. A verdant mare tosses her head and whistles. A spectral yellow falcon beats its wings against the conjured wind. But your witches stay focused. Your lips twitch into a little smile. You’re glad for your coven’s discipline, but there’s something incredibly charming about the honesty of the soul. 

You repeat the process for the rest of the directions, calling the spirits in. “Kin of the southern powers, Salamander of fire, light of the Star and her magi…western powers, Merrow of water, blood of the Star and her magi…northern powers, Sidhe of the earth, body of the Star and her magi, we bid you hail and welcome!”

The fire cupped in the prongs of the stave burns scarlet now, nothing like a natural fire. The cove smells like fresh-turned soil, and the waves reach to curl sea foam around your ankles. More importantly, a shining silver thread now glimmers around the perimeter of the circle, promising protection and containment, designating sacred space unbothered by time or outside forces. It’d be so easy to get lost in just this: the feeling of the natural magic that gives life to everything and its swirls around and through you. 

It’s not a temptation you’re willing to indulge tonight though. You know from experience that the energy high that ritual offers is temporary. Despite the long-term benefits, this euphoria will come with a hefty crash following close on the heels of the circle coming down, and you’ve got plans for the morning. 

That being said, this is where the hard part starts. Granted, the others have most of the heavy lifting to deal with. They provide the material and the intent, and it’s your job to pull it all together and set it in motion. 

Witches stay firmly in place as their familiars, one at a time, begin to travel the circle, moving clockwise and inward to contribute their part to the spell. You close your eyes and focus. Luce processes the intent, magnifies it, and then you sort it and set it in motion. Each contribution comes to you as flashes of color against the blackness before your eyes. Twin sparks of green– a mare and a dog– come with the kindness to choose concealment and mercy over conflict. The kindness to hide. Cyan, flitting through your consciousness in the form of a spider, brings with it the patience to wait to act and move until it is safe to do so. A yellow falcon offers the understanding that the just thing to do is choose mercy and protect your own. A triad of cerulean souls, bright with integrity, affirm a devotion to the coven’s truth: defend your own, no matter what. Frey, prowling vivid orange, adds in the courage to choose mercy in the face of violence. 

It’s no surprise that, of all the soul traits of witches, the rich purple of perseverance is the most common. The stubborn will to persist through all odds is valuable among a people who have been hunted for centuries. It’s that very resolve to survive that they offer you, and that you take and, through your own determination, turn into the glue for this spell. You see it in your mind: a rainbow of color melting together into an opalescent silver, refined magic, which you take and stretch and divide, giving back to each familiar so that they can take the body of the spell back to their witches and their families. 

You speak to the spell. You tell it to be a mist over all your kin, hiding them from unkind eyes no matter what they do. And you give it a name, because names have power. You name the spell Vanish and send it on its way to do the task you’ve assigned it. 

Locking your legs as the spell leaves you is a trained response to the rush of fatigue that sweeps up through you and begs you to lean on Luce for support. You don’t. You’re fine.

You have to blink hard a few times as you open your eyes to clear the black spots that cloud your vision. Your mind is wide awake, buzzing with energy, but your body is starting to feel the strain of the long day. It’s time to wrap this up. 

You raise your arms above you as if to cup to full moon where it hangs silver-gold high above the curve of the cove now. A stillness falls over the coven, as if the entire collective is holding their breath. You savor the silence for a moment, drinking in the moonlight, the sea breeze, the embrace of the earth. Then, you pray. 

“Arianrhod, lady of the silver wheel, mother of mages and star of humanity, be with us now, and when all other lights go out,” you breathe the prayer, voice echoing with the effects of magic in the curve of the cove.

The words fill the space of the circle and it almost seems to hang in the air between your coven before they answer with a rolling, reverent, “by the Star, we are saved.”  


You see that bright gold star flash for just a moment behind your eyes, just like it always does when you close ritual. It’s all the sign you need to call this spell a success and prompt you to start dismissing the elemental spirits in reverse order that you called them. You bid each spirit ‘hail and farewell’, and as each one leaves your circle you find it harder and harder to keep your eyes open. 

The air spirits depart last and with them the protective ring of your circle dissipates, With a wave of your hand, you banish the flame hovering in the cup of the stave’s prongs, plunging the cove into semi-darkness, illuminated only by the gentle wash of moonlight and the soul-glow that the familiars radiate.  


“The circle is open, yet unbroken,” you declare quietly, and that’s all it takes for the air of ritual to come to an end.

Witches disperse, invigorated by the influx of energy that ritual provides, and start chatting animatedly. They know well enough to give the Magus a moment after werking to breathe, and you’re immensely grateful for it. You shudder with a suppressed yawn and Luce presses their face between your shoulder blades in support. 

‘I suggest you brace yourself, little bird. You have incoming,’ their voice echoes in your head. 

It’s Maeve, coming upon you so quickly that she kicks wet sand up in her wake, Frey strutting lazily in her wake. “Alright, miss barista, spill the tea!” 

Your lips twitch at the pun and despite your exhaustion you have to bite back a traitorous snort. Unlike you, Maeve is clearly buzzing with the influx of ritual magic. It’d be fun to drag this out longer, torment her a bit, but your whole body aches for your bed. You need to get some sleep in tonight, and so does she. So you cut to the chase and tell her about what happened, between meeting Maria and learning about her racist family, to being introduced to Capri and invited to breakfast at a monster café that wasn’t officially open to humans yet. As expected of the sugar-addicted witch, she practically shrieks in jealousy when she hears that you’ll get to try monster pastries before her. 

“I’ll see if I can get you something to go,” you promise with a playful wink. 

“You better! Wait, y’said you’re meeting them for breakfast, aye?”

You tilt your head and hum in affirmation, and Maeve lets out an indignant squawk, smacking her palm into her face. 

“ Miss ‘I run a tea shop only open after noon to avoid mornings and stay up until the wee hours doing magic’ agreed to a breakfast meet-up? On a ritual night? Why?! Get out of here you lunatic, go!” She’s spins you around and is shoving you back towards the stone path, completely ignoring your familiars’ obvious amusement, and you can only laugh in response. Still, she has a point, so you take the out.

“Sure, sure. I delegate all immediate questions and concerns to you then, since you’re so eager to send me off. For everything else, you can all reach me tomorrow if you need,” you say, loud enough for the rest of the coven to hear. 

Maeve’s face blanches a bit, clearly having not considered the consequences of suggesting the Magus leave right after a ritual without taking the time to take audience, but, to her credit, she doesn’t protest. 

Blowing her a kiss over your shoulder, you wave goodbye and begin to slip onto the shadowed path away from the cove, Luce close behind you, their vibrant crimson dimming as their form retreats into your soul.

“Star save you, hon. Get home safe, and call me tomorrow,” you say with wink. She rolls her eyes, but you catch her smile before you turn away.

**Author's Note:**

> Well met gentle-friends, well met! This is my first dive back into creative writing after a few years drowning in academia, so let me know how I'm doing! The witchcraft written here is heavily informed by British traditional witchcraft and American indigenous practices, for anyone curious. 
> 
> We can meet up with Muffet next chapter! See you then, dearies <3  
> Come say high at cipher-the-sidhe on tumblr


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